🎃 Update for late August 🎃
The Atlantic Giant Pumpkin
Otto the Pointer, a wiry old chap, with an orange beard like a fuzzy knit cap,
Guards the patch with a sniff and a snort, in weather so hot, he could grill a pork chop on the porch.
The summer’s been steamy, the sun’s on blast, some vines gave up—said, “We’re not gonna last!”
But Otto stands proud, tail straight in the breeze, (Though he secretly misses the 70s… please.)
Scarface Pumpkin vines
He paces the rows with his pumpkin crew, from baby-sized gourds to the jumbo stew.
There’s Atlantic Giant, a beast of a ball - Otto tried to chase it... but bounced off and fall'd.
Grizzly Bear Pumpkin is tough and lumpy, looks like it presses squash at the gym when it's grumpy.
Then Scarface, the rebel, all rugged and scarred, Stares down the crows like a gourd bodyguard.
The Grizzly Bear Pumpkin
The Jack-o’-Lanterns grin with delight, just waiting for Halloween night.
Otto gives them a sniff and a sneeze, then flops down in what’s left of the peas.
His beard’s gone crispy from guarding all day, in heat that melts scarecrows and scare-dogs away.
But he’s loyal and proud, and loves every vine - even the ones that forgot how to climb.
So if you see pumpkins, weird, wild, and stout, know Otto’s the one who sniffed them all out.
Come fall, when you’re picking your Halloween dream, thank the bearded pup who runs this whole team.
Otto on the Pumpkin Patch Patrol
In a patch where pumpkins swell and sprawl,
Lives Otto, the sheriff who watches it all.
A German Wirehair, proud and bold,
With a sniffer so keen and a heart of gold.
The sun's been cooking the earth to toast,
Even the scarecrow gave up the ghost.
Cicadas are screaming like tiny fans,
Like punk rock bugs in a marching band.
The pumpkins? Oh, they're out of control—
Ballooning like they’ve got a growth goal.
"We’ll hit a hundred!" the farmer declared,
As Otto just snorted, completely unimpaired.
He patrols with purpose, ears on high,
Scanning for threats with his squinty eye.
A squirrel? A crow? A rogue garden gnome?
Not on Otto’s watch—they’d better go home.
Yet even a hero must beat the heat,
So Otto seeks shade near the farmer’s seat.
He slurps from his bowl, all slobber and pride,
Tongue hanging out like a hammock wide.
He dreams of fall, when the harvest is done,
And he can chase leaves just for fun.
But till then he guards with noble flair,
Pumpkin Sheriff, with wiry hair.
So raise a paw for the pooch with a plan,
The patch protector, the squash-savvy man.
Otto the Pointer, brave and cool—
Defender of pumpkins. And also a pool. 🐾🎃
